


My Doctor

by ChasingtheCosmos



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, OC/companion/self-insert POV, can be any companion/doctor pairing, first person POV, or no pairing, ship is dealer's choice, these are my new favorite things to write okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingtheCosmos/pseuds/ChasingtheCosmos
Summary: Five 100-word drabbles giving a quick snapshot of each of the New Who Doctors from Nine to Thirteen and what makes them unique and special.
Kudos: 12





	1. Nine

He is the smell of old leather and chemical burning as something new sparks to life and catches fire. He is my strong shoulder to lean on and the comforting hand I hold because he has known the sting of loneliness, and it has made him kind.

But "kind" is not "patient" - he is like a flame burning too wild, too fast, and dying before his time.

He runs like he is dashing down a hill and can't stop. I chase after him because I know that I need to be there to cushion his fall whenever he eventually lands.


	2. Ten

He is a breath of fresh air in my lungs - the hint of apple grass stinging the taste buds at the back of my tongue. He is the wind that rushes past us as we dive head-first through the open air and pray we'll find a way to stop ourselves before we crash.

He is words - every vowel and consonant stringing together to make a melody - and has a gob that is nearly acrobatic in skill. I don't always catch the meaning of his long-winded speeches, but I always understand their intent. Some things really don't need saying, after all.


	3. Eleven

He is the changeable green-tinged sky right before a summer storm, and I never know if I'll need an umbrella. I have run with him before, but never like this - like we are being chased.

He is the dead heat of summer with wide open skies and room to run. He is the bandaging up of scrapes and bruises when the adventure inevitably goes awry and a kiss to make it better. He is laughter while we dance in the rain. He is the excitement and terror of knowing that tomorrow could hold anything and everything inside of it.


	4. Twelve

He is like the music that he plays for me - dark, layered, haunting, beautiful. His melodies swell in the air and paint pictures without using words - but his words are beautiful, too; his pain makes him unwittingly poetic.

He no longer does any hugging, but the small, secret smiles that we share are somehow even better.

He is the smell of dust and old books - filled with stories of heroism and heartache and learning lessons. He is the last ray of sunlight burning the edge of dusk, refusing to abandon the day and searing its glow against the western skies.


	5. Thirteen

She is the wonder and mystery of a starry night sky - she glitters with light despite the darkness threatening to swallow her whole. She is the sweet, golden taste of honey and the sticky, impossible mess that goes right along with it.

She is the pure-white daisy that grows up from the misty forest floor - standing alone amongst the ancient trees that tower over her. She is unique in her solidarity - proof that small, pretty things can still hold power.

She remains singular, keeping herself apart even from me. She is like a monument that I must admire from afar.


End file.
